Alessia listens, then adds quietly, decisively, “I’m willing to wait if I have to—but I won’t downgrade.”
Barrel allocations aren’t casual purchases. They’re negotiated years in advance. Earned through reputation, consistency,and trust. And she’s pushing—because she knows the vintage can carry it.
“What’s going on, Nico? You’re into your wife now?” she demands bluntly.
I cock an eyebrow. “And how is that any of your damn business?”
Chiara swallows and straightens. “You know why it is.”
There’s a flash of hurt in her eyes, and I know I’ve fucked up.
Cazzo!
In my effort to push my wife away, I gave Chiara signals I shouldn’t have.
“You work for me,” I tell her softly. “We’re colleagues.”
“We’re more,” she insists. “Since you’ve been married…hell, since you’ve been engaged, you’ve spent more time with me than her.”
I don’t like pushy women. I especially don’t like women who tell me how I feel. “I’ve spent more time with Renzo than you…what does that mean?”
She steps closer to me, staking a claim she doesn’t have. “So, what is it between us?”
Guilt inundates me. I thought Chiara knew what we were doing. We were working, and maybe I allowed her liberties, as I do Renzo.
But I can’t escape the truth that I kept her close to let Alessia think I was sleeping with her. People call Chiara my mistress, my work wife, and I let them. Now, I don’t know what I thought I'd achieve by doing this.
“You are the head of communications for the House of Alighieri.”
Her lower lip wobbles. “And?”
“And, that’s it.”
She shakes her head slowly, in disbelief. “No. You and I?—”
“Work together,” I cut in. “Chiara, you know me. Do you think I’m a man who’d cheat on his wedding vows?”
She knows that I wouldn’t. She knows that about me. She’s tried to get me into bed, and I’ve overtly declined every invitation, no matter how subtly it was made.
She knows I’ve not been with any other woman, even though I’ve had plenty of opportunity.
“This is the second time you’re seeing your wife since you’ve been married,” she accuses. “And you’ve been with me all this time. Our photographs are everywhere. You put your hands on me.”
“No,” I snap. She’s taking this too far. “I’ve never touched you inappropriately.”
My sharp tone carries because I see Alessia flicker a gaze at us. I don’t think she can hear us because we’re speaking in low voices—and honestly, I don’t mind if she does. At least that will get me off the hook from telling her that I have not cheated on her, not in action or even in thought. I haven’t exactly been loyal to my vows to her—as in I haven’t loved and cherished as I promised her I would, but I haven’t touched another woman in a sexual manner.
“So…that’s it?” Chiara demands, her voice breaking.
“Explain.” The word is a bark because I’m losing my patience with Chiara.
“We’re…nothing?”
“We’re employee and boss.”
She steps away from me and takes a deep breath as if centering herself. “You gave me hope.”
“When?” I demand, moving closer to her so she can hear what I have to say without the whole fucking estate knowing about it. “When I told you I’m getting married? When I told you that the woman I am photographed with is for work purposes, and that’s about it?” I glare at her. “Or was it when I told you that if you ever made a sexualadvance at me as you did all those months ago in Mallorca, I would fire you?”
